


Phillipe  Anderson, Circle Mage

by OtakuElf



Series: Circleverse [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mages, Montsimmard Circle, Starkhaven Circle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtakuElf/pseuds/OtakuElf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anderson wanted something more than marriage to a provincial Orlesian farm girl.  When his magic showed, he had his chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Montsimmard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LunaMoth116](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaMoth116/gifts).



> Thank you to Lunamoth116, not only for beta-ing, but also for letting me mess around in her Sherlock/Dragon Age AU.
> 
> Please check out her stories of the Circleverse. http://archiveofourown.org/series/56025

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escaping the trap.

Senior Enchanter Phillipe Anderson loved being a mage. He was an Orlesian originally - despite his name - a Chantry brat destined for dedication to work in some form of Andrastean labor - doing the Maker's Work - ensuring the Song of Andraste would be spread throughout the world of Thedas. Anderson did not sing particularly well. He had other skills to compensate. Although he had not come into his power until the age of sixteen - extremely late for a mage to show that spark of magic - being sequestered in the care of the Chantry and the Circle had been, for Phillipe, the best of all possible worlds.

A trusted - well, as trusted as any mage was by a templar or the Chantry - member of the Circle, Senior Enchanter Anderson was often sent out - with templar escort, of course - upon requests for mage assistance. In fact, his transfer to the Starkhaven Tower had been the result of his expertise in determining the use of magic at scenes of interest. Starkhaven had requested a mage who would be able to determine if the body of a local cooper had been murdered by blood magic, and Anderson had finally escaped from the Montsimmard Circle, so close to his childhood home. Transfer to Starkhaven meant a promotion in status, but also that Phillipe was less bothered by his wife.

So far as he knew, Senior Enchanter Anderson was the only married mage at any of the Circles he’d visited. Being caught with the neighboring farmer’s elder daughter in the hayloft at the age of fifteen had resulted in a speedy visit to the Chantry for marriage before being enslaved by his wife’s father as a farmhand for the rest of his natural life. Enslaved was exactly how Phillipe saw it. Schooling at the Chantry, and plans for possibly joining as a Chantry brother or a scholar, cut short because he’d succumbed to lust and gotten laid by the first girl he’d been able to get to agree. His wife was a typical Orlesian farm girl, plump and not particularly pretty. In fact, she was a good deal older than Phillipe, in her twenties, and had been looking for a husband for some time. It was the girl herself who had tipped off her father, told him to check the barn to find Phillipe hiding instead of working. He had been loaned to the prosperous farmer with the rest of the Chantry schoolchildren for a week’s worth of work with the planting. Regularly paid tithes bought many concessions from the local Revered Mother. It was the least these drains on the Chantry funds could do to make up for the cost of their care. Well, Phillipe had not wanted to be keeping all hours in the fields for the rest of his life. Then he was caught, pants down around his ankles and Yvette’s legs wrapped around his waist. There would have no choice of a celibate but well paid position in the brotherhood now.

It was not that Phillipe disliked his wife. Yvette provided a good deal of satisfaction, as probably only a young adolescent can enjoy. It was that Phillipe wanted to be known for something. He had been brought up thinking to be a Chantry scholar, and had entertained visions of fame in his study of the Chant. Now, married to his Yvette, he was proving that the life of a farmer did not come easily. At least not to Phillipe.

And then, one day soon after Phillipe’s sixteenth birthday, out of the Maker’s sacred blue, no one had been able to get to the garden to care for the vegetables. There was a wall, one that could not be seen, circling around the root vegetables, right where Phillipe had been working the day before. The Chantry sister called to the scene sent for the templars as soon as she tried to enter and ended up sitting on her rear in the dust. The templars examined all who had been involved with the garden the day before and discovered that Phillipe was the source of the spell containing the area when they nullified it.

This nullification was Phillipe’s first experience with having a templar break a spell, and it was painful, like a feeling a spike driven into his head. Not long after, they’d dragged him to the circle in manacles specifically designed to prevent a mage from casting. The Knight-Commander had expected to find a heartbroken adolescent in the bare cell weeping and begging for a return to his parents. Instead, Phillipe had begged to be taken on as a mage apprentice. Even the gray stone walls of the Montsimmard Circle were a palace when compared to the rough life of a tenant farmer in Orlais.

Phillipe’s new wife, as well as her father, had been displeased. Yvette had refused to allow the Chantry to annul their marriage. She constantly sent him letters written by the local Chantry sister, which Phillipe completely ignored. His Chantry background allowed him to pick up the basics of research at the Circle in Montsimmard. Hoping for the possibility of transfer to Val Royeaux, Phillipe worked ceaselessly. The skinny adolescent might not be able to pick up as much instinctively as the tinier apprentices, but he had a will to make something of himself in this insular world. The Harrowing, when he was subjected to it, was not short nor long, but absolutely average in the amount of time it took for him to figure out the riddle of refusing the demons. 

After becoming Enchanter Anderson, Phillipe knew the best way to rise in power was to specialize, to make himself useful. His choice, knowing that Healers were suspect in their closeness to Blood Magery, was to study the Arcane, and to increase his knowledge of Force magic. Now that he was counted an adult, Anderson - he did not use his first name any longer, having left it behind with the apprentice robes - began to take advantage of other aspects of Circle Life. And to appear older than he truly was, Anderson began to grow a beard.

Ingratiating himself with both the Circle's Revered Mother, and the Knight-Commander of Montsimmard, Enchanter Anderson proved invaluable to the templars in discovering illicit usage of magic. From time to time he was escorted through the countryside on the templars searches to find young mages, hedge witches, and traces of those who had passed through who entertained the talent. Obviously, he would not snitch on those within the Circle. He did not tattle. Certainly not on the templars, and obviously not on his fellow mages. It was a sure ticket to a long fall from the top of the tower. Immured they might be within the Circle, but jailed they were not. All too many illicitries were passed on inside the guarded walls for anyone to believe this was a prison. Oh, Anderson had heard some complaints, but he found life there most congenial, and refused to have anything to do with the complainers. This, of course, stood him in good stead with their overseers.

While he was not unpopular with his fellow mages, he did his best to avoid open contention, particularly with the women. He did not wish to lack for female companionship. Not every womanly enchanter believed him when he spun his tale of woe - leaving his poor wife behind in the home village, never to see her again - but there were plenty who willingly gave him some form of physical consolation. Careful, of course, not to breed, he might not have been popular, but he was available for those women in whom he acknowledged an interest. Life was intriguing, pleasant enough, but when the call came for an magical investigator in the Starkhaven Circle, Anderson took the step up to become a Senior Enchanter, farther away from home.


	2. Starkhaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks ever so to my beta-reader, Lunamoth116!

Starkhaven lived up to its name. It was not a decorative city. It was not what an Orlesian would call a city at all. At first Anderson did not see much of it, hustled as he was off of the Rivaini ship transporting him and his templar guardians. The night was dark when the gangplank banged down onto the grey and dirty white stones of the quay. When offered the chance to stay one more night in the tiny cramped bunk he shared with the templars, all Anderson could think of was a nice warm, anything-but-sea-water bath. “I am eager to get to the circle, Captain. Thank you!”

It had not surprised Anderson that the templars had deferred the decision to him. They were courteous men, and Anderson had enjoyed the company on this adventure. Now, faced with the Tower, built of the same grey and white stone as the rest of the Free Marches City State, the mage was uncertain. Orlais had been more welcoming. The walk from the docks had not actually been a walk - more of a climb, the Circle being built on an aspect of the cliff over the harbor. Anderson was out of breath when the iron bound gates were opened for them. Looking up at the massive structures, iron-wood gates – and how had they gotten the ironwood here, Anderson wondered – bound with iron and set in the same grey, white stone, the mage expected them to rumble loudly, or at least creak. Instead they moved smoothly, as quietly as the well-maintained marble-faced portals of the Circle in Orlais.

Opening the huge gates was unnecessary when a tiny access portal was dimly outlined to the right. Was it to get their party inside the walls, within the authority of the Circle and the Chantry, as quickly as possible? Was it to overawe them? Phillipe Anderson caught himself trying to catch the eye of the residents - mage, Chantry, or templar.

The courtyard was lit only by flickering torchlight shining from within the open building entrance. _Odd,_ Phillipe thought, _Why would they have no torches or lanterns?_ He considered calling magelight. No, not even though this was dark, and it was difficult to see much. Phillipe could not be certain that the Starkhaven templars were avoiding his gaze. He suspected so. A bad sign. Ranuld, a tall, bearded Fereldan transplant from his former Circle, pulled a face at the mage, then winked. Relieved, Phillipe lifted an eyebrow before walking straighter . He was centered in a group of templars now - Starkhaven before, Orlesian behind. The immigrant to Starkhaven Circle strode forward to meet the Knight Commander and the First Enchanter of his new Circle.

…

They had him mistaken for another mage. Maker, how could these people be so stupid? 

First of all, they assumed he was a spirit healer. “I thought you would be much younger?” was the thin, reedy comment from the exceedingly elderly man introduced as First Enchanter Hadar. At first, Anderson was uncertain as to whether Hadar was male or female. The mage was probably the oldest human being the young Enchanter had ever seen, wan, hunched over, arthritic crabbed hands, voice pitched high and quavering, and white hair lying lank on a pale pink, speckled head.

The rather more than portly Knight Commander MacLaren blew out his aggressively ginger mustache to admonish the startled transplant mage, “We’ve heard about you, young man. Let me tell you there will be no more escapes for you!”

Anderson’s jaw dropped. “Escape? I’ve never attempted escape.” Not from the Circle, certainly. “The Circle is my home!” If the mage emphasized his Orlesian accent, it was understandable.

Ettiene Louis Vert, Ranuld’s partner in escorting Anderson to the Starkhaven Circle drew himself up and began to speak rapidly, loudly, in Orlesian. Ranuld translated the demand that the Knight-Commander read the transportation order. Possibly… no, probably the templars knew the mage to whom these men were referring. Anderson would have to find out later.

As the Commander of the Order of templars of Starkhaven surveyed the papers in his hand, Anderson took a moment to gather himself before giving a careful introduction. “My name is Phillipe Marie Claude Anderson. I was sent by the Montsimmard Chantry to help your investigation into the murder of your townsman, the cooper - yes?”

Silence. Waiting. Thought. Then as close to an apology as a mage was likely to get here. “Unfortunate. We seem to have misunderstood. The Denerim Chantry has told us they will be sending one of the Kinloch mages.

“I am afraid our concern over the rumors quite overwhelmed thoughts of the investigation.”

Well and good. The concerns of his identity were resolved. Anderson discovered that there were more issues with being mistaken for that Fereldan mage than could be corrected easily. Over his first week in the Circle he was tripped and shoved in the halls of the tower, always amazingly when no templar was watching. Curious, considering that particular group of Starkhaven warriors’ almost hysterical and constant surveillance of the Senior Enchanters’ Common Room. If anything, the atmosphere in that room - when Anderson entered - was colder than an ice spell.

The correction of their misapprehension was tedious and took time. Anderson was nothing if not charming. When he chose. Emphasizing his Orlesian background, pointedly referring to his age, force magic specializations, and scholarly knowledge in all schools, Anderson distanced himself from the rumor-tarred young spirit healer from Ferelden. That worked, somewhat. Possibly if he'd allowed others to call him by a different name, things would have changed. Anderson refused.

The templars took longer. The guardians of the mages, a bitter and unruly lot when contrasted with Ranuld and Etienne. Starkhaven Templars seemed to be from the Free Marches and the Anderfels. Not surprisingly, Anderseon guessed. The majority of the templars he had known at Montsimmard were of Orlesian birth. 

On that first morning, when the sun rose with a watery light, Starkhaven was cold, the air clear, the tower high, and sheep roamed the green hills all about. Very little went on in Starkhaven. Oh, it was a city, and as such had dens of iniquity - quite a few if the gossip of the templars could be believed - but compared to Montsimmard Circle, Starkhaven was incredibly quiet. The library was not as large either, and the Chantry had noticeably fewer resources. 

Senior Enchanter Anderson shared a double room, his half separated by a tall plastered wall. The shared garderobe and bath were kept clean by apprentices, and provided some measure of privacy. The other half of the room was taken by Senior Enchanter Decimus. Since Anderson did not much care which room he was assigned, so long as it was in keeping with his Senior Enchanter status, he did not have a care as to who inhabited the other half. The beds were acceptable.

What did interest Anderson was that Decimus had taken one of the younger enchanters as a more or less permanent lover - an attachment of which the templars seemed to be unaware. Grace had been a street rat in Starkhaven, apparent from her tattooing, if not her accent. She’d been an older aged addition to the Circle, though not so late as Anderson. Twelve was within the usual realm of when the skills bloomed. Grace had burned a number of bullies on the riverside before being brought to the Circle by the templars. Grace was very much a Starkhaven name, as the virtues were much admired in the bare bones little city state. No one knew her parentage, though her words sounded Fereldan to Anderson.

Decimus, however, he was not from around here. Decimus took offense when Anderson asked if he’d been born in Tevinter. “You from the Anderfels then, Anders’s _SON?_ ” his roommate had grated, “Because you sound like a damned Orlesian to me.”

Ah. Fereldan. “My father was from the Anderfels,” he’d casually informed the other mage, “My mother was born in Val Royeaux. They died not long after my birth. Not the Blight, but some sickness much like it. I was, of course, Chantry-raised after that.”

Calm in the face of wrath and a charming smile - well, and dead parents. It worked in this case. “I beg your pardon.” The shorter mage waved a hand toward the chair on his side of the room, “Stay. Talk with me. I was once Fereldan. Waking Sea Bannorn. Even there we do have some small -” that tone was deprecating, “- resentment of those from Orlais. When my magic appeared they would not send me to Jainen to the Circle there, too close to my large family - I was the tenth child - but banished me here to Starkhaven.”

“You consider this a banishment?” Anderson asked curiously.

“And you do not?” Decimus asked in disbelief, “It is true then, that you chose to come here?”

How much truth to give out? “It seemed better than being trapped at Montsimmard forever.” Near his wife. Though best not to say that. “Now, though -” the tall, thin, bearded man looked around the room, “- It is clear that I miscalculated. I had hoped to work my way up to Cumberland.”

Decimus’s laugh was harsh and unappreciative. “Up to Cumberland. There is no good place .or a mage in the Circles run by the Chantry. Fereldan had a good reputation, until this young bastard began his escape attempts. Knight Commander Greagoir lost face in his lack of control over his charges.”

“Kinloch Circle?” Anderson asked, remembering his meeting with the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander here.

“Yes. In the center of a lake, and the boy jumped off a dock during exercises and tried to swim away.” Decimus seemed torn between annoyance and amusement.

Anderson cocked his head, “Why do you find that funny?”

“Imagine it,” Decimus demanded, “a skinny apprentice mage swimming across that lake, probably holding onto his staff. And the templars unable to jump in after him in their plate mail.”

Taken that way, it was indeed humorous. Anderson spent the rest of the evening in conversation with Decimus. The Ferelden caught himself and refused to be further drawn out upon the politics of the Circle, or his place in the fraternities. Time soon enough to discover those. In the end the young mage would joke his way into all of the cliques, just as he had in Montsimmard. The Orlesian coaxed stories of life in Starkhaven from the man. They were limited, for the most part, to tales of the Circle. Mages were not allowed out to interact with the townsfolk. The Tranquil tended to the marketing and sales of any items permitted to be sent to the Circle stalls in the market place. 

Some stories of the city, told second-hand, gave Anderson more information about the place he would be on the morrow, or the next day, when assisting the templars in their investigation. It was later that Anderson met Grace, and determined where Decimus had learned those tales.

...

Senior Enchanter Anderson worked hard to bring evidence to the templars in the case of the cooper. The man had been murdered - that much was obvious - but no weapon was discovered in the locked room. Andereson was able to discover scuff marks on the window sill, a chip of wood, and an indentation in the wood of the window itself. To show that it was not magic that allowed the window to close and lock itself, the mage managed, after much calm and reasoned discussion, to have one of the templars set up the contraption according to the mage’s directions. With no magic use whatsoever, the templar followed through and showed the Knight-Commander how the chip of wood had blocked the locking mechanism, and the gentle tap against the wood of the window top had dislodged it, allowing the lock to fasten, when the window slid closed.

The templar was rewarded for his clever investigation. Senior Enchanter Anderson was sent back to the tower without further word. Anderson had not expected to be rewarded. He had expected that his assistance would be appreciated, at least by the templars he had shown how to solve the issue. They avoided him. Until the next time. And the next. The guard noticed. The Guard Captain began to request his assistance on difficult cases. After that he was requested on regular cases. Anderson became the “go to” mage whenever Guard Captain Gregson felt the need. With enough political clout in the city, and the support of the ruling family, Phillipe Anderson became the only mage to regularly visit the city itself.

 

Humble and charming when questioned by the Revered Mother Helene, herself an Orlesian transplant, Anderson managed to avoid that trap as well. His accent in the Common tongue thick, their conversations in Orlesian after that were welcome to homesick Helene’s ears. Welcome in the Chantry, with the City Guard, if not by the templars of the Starkhaven Circle, he received enough work to prevent boredom. Research into magic was not encouraged in Starkhaven. Time to start planning a transfer to another Circle, one in which his talents would be appreciated and respected.

Other than that, Starkhaven was not a welcoming place. Not a gracious place. And the food was terrible. Even growing up a Chantry babe, Anderson had enjoyed decent food. Orlesian food could be simple, or it could be richly sauced. But it was always herbed or spiced. It was tasty. The meals in Starkhaven were tasteless, gray, and mostly mutton and tough bread. Oatmeal was in abundance as well. Anderson was teased about his delicate sensibilities at meals. He took the joking in good humor, although it was difficult to swallow down the bland offerings on his plate as well.

There was, however, an aspect of the Starkhaven Circle that Anderson could well appreciate. Being mistaken for the spirit healer from Ferelden, especially by the female mages, gave the Orlesian mage a reputation for sexual expertise that drew others to him. Male and female, though he politely turned away the males. Phillipe Anderson took enjoyable advantage of the female offers. Between their expectations and his experience from Montsimmard, the man got a chance at most every woman in the Circle. He avoided any entanglement with Grace, of course, and never settled with any one woman. Still and all, his willingness to engage in the forbidden practices - sex being frowned upon in the Starkhaven Circle - along with his scrupulous attention to his partners’ pleasures made Anderson very popular.

He was years in the Starkhaven Circle. When the time came for a transfer opportunity, although it was to the Kinloch Hold Circle and not Cumberland, Phillipe Anderson had gained enough political clout within the Senior Enchanters’ Common Room, and support from his friend, the Guard Captain, that he managed his escape.


End file.
